


Small Things

by Seefin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, HP: EWE, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, yet still a wartime fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seefin/pseuds/Seefin
Summary: The Death Eaters went to the village early one morning before anyone was awake, and now the village is empty, apart from the Aurors, and the Order, and several now-stray dogs that sleep in an open garage on the side of one of the oast houses. The village once would have been small and pretty and quaint, but now it is only small, made smaller by the fires that the Death Eaters set in the post office, and in the souvenir shop that used to sell postcards and lengths of boiled rock candy. The Aurors took the abandoned school building, setting up cots in the small gym, and the Order took the pub and the barns out back that had previously been used for storage.





	Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> another 'draco vs. the concept of tents' story, i'm afraid

The Death Eaters went to the village early one morning before anyone was awake, and now the village is empty, apart from the Aurors, and the Order, and several now-stray dogs that sleep in an open garage on the side of one of the oast houses. The village once would have been small and pretty and quaint, but now it is only small, made smaller by the fires that the Death Eaters set in the post office, and in the souvenir shop that used to sell postcards and lengths of boiled rock candy. The Aurors took the abandoned school building, setting up cots in the small gym, and the Order took the pub and the barns out back that had previously been used for storage.

To the east of the village is a wood, and a road cutting through it that has since been blocked off. Past the wood is a common, heath, or bog, depending on who you’re talking to, which is 58 square acres, and has 16 separate footpaths running across it. Further east still, past the wood and the common, and on the other side of a considerably large river, is a Death Eater camp. It is currently unknown how many people reside there, or what their intentions are, although any reasonable person could probably guess, and Draco likes to think of himself as a reasonable person.

Draco has spent a lot of this war in a tent. If he had to estimate he would say that this year has been the worst by far, tent-wise, and his only consolation is the fact that pretty much everybody else is also spending all their time in tents. The Aurors are miserable, the members of the Order are definitely all miserable, and the Death Eaters are probably miserable too. It cheers Draco to an immeasurable degree to consider just how awful the Death Eaters are probably feeling right now. He can’t imagine they have many funds left, or many ways of raising any, or many ways of buying things even if they _did_ have the means. They’re probably out there in the middle of a field skinning rabbits and patching holes in their clothes and making nettle soup, while, for once, Draco is in an actual bed, in an actual, real room, in a building that isn’t made entirely from fabric.

It had been sort of an adventure towards the beginning, when he’d handed himself over to the Aurors and told them that actually, being a Death Eater had severely limited his life expectancy, and he would rather enjoy being on the side that was backed up by the new Ministry and the entire Auror department and the majority of wizarding society. Also, he thought he’d quite like to see what life was like when you were fighting for a cause you actually believed in, rather than one you half-heartedly supported due to a) your parents’ influence, and b) threat of death/torture/death of aforementioned parents.

Obviously, Draco would not currently rate his experience as an adventure _._ It isn’t even adventure-adjacent, actually, but at least nobody’s threatening his life anymore, which he supposes one must be grateful for. And even though he didn’t anticipate the tent thing, or the fact that he’d have to talk to the entire Weasley family on an almost-daily basis, and despite the dawning realisation that apparently you don’t get holiday leave during a war, Draco is, mostly, grateful. He likes being alive, as it turns out.

More than anything, though, he likes being on the second floor of a building in a bed that doesn’t have someone asleep either directly above him or directly beneath him. And even though he has to share the room with both Longbottom _and_ Harry, Longbottom is off at Hogwarts for a few days on some mysterious research trip that is far too dull for an interesting person like Draco to think about. Things have been turning out wonderfully, Draco thinks to himself, sprawled across the bed. Things couldn’t possibly be going better, unless the war were to spontaneously end and he were to spontaneously find himself on a beach in the French Riviera.

The shower in the en-suite cuts off, and after a few minutes Harry emerges from the bathroom, along with a cloud of steam. His shoulders are still wet, which is rather fetching.

“Potter,” Draco says, languid on the bed. “Have you ever been to France?”

“No,” Harry replies.

“Has it ever occurred to you that we could just-- go to France?” Draco asks him. He turns his head to watch Harry brush his hair. It’s shoulder-length now, and grows quicker than Draco’s does.

“No,” Harry says again, into the mirror. This truly is an ugly room, one of seven guest rooms above the main part of the pub, but Harry looks lovely in it anyway. Harry would look lovely anywhere, Draco supposes. Harry looks lovely in a fucking tent.

“Take your towel off,” Draco says, propping himself onto one elbow.

Harry snorts. “No,” he says. “We have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Draco tells him.

“If you’re bad at it,” Harry mutters under his breath.

“I heard that,” Draco points out.

“You were meant to,” Harry retorts, and then clams up, the way he usually does when he’s forced into speaking more than ten words inside an hour.

Draco makes an incoherent noise, and wriggles around on the mattress. It’s not even that comfortable, now that he’s properly thinking about it, and there are actually a couple of very pointy springs digging into his back. He wonders if either of the other two beds are better off.

“Can I try out your bed?” Draco asks.

Harry turns to look at him. “No?” he says, and then goes to sit on it. He makes a face, which probably means that it’s just as bad as Draco’s.

“I’m testing Neville’s,” Draco says, and then launches himself over to the bed on the other side of Harry’s. “Hm,” he says, “this isn’t actually that bad.”

“Just cast a cushioning spell,” Harry mutters.

“I can’t make one last all night,” Draco informs him. “And I feel like you are well aware of that fact.”

“I am,” Harry says, and then sighs. It’s very quiet, almost unnoticeable, but Draco is very observant.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Harry looks at him again, surprised, as though it’s a complete revelation that someone might notice literally anything about him. “Just tired,” he says.

“Do you want to nap for thirteen minutes?” Draco offers. “I’ll wake you up when we need to leave.”

Harry swallows. “Okay,” he says, then comes over to Draco’s newly claimed bed. He lies down, and Draco puts his hand on Harry’s bare ankle. “Don’t let us be late,” Harry warns him.

“I wouldn’t,” Draco says, even though he’d been considering abandoning the meeting altogether. Harry mumbles something, probably _yes you bloody well would,_ and then falls asleep before Draco can defend himself further.

 

2.

Every once in a while they get a day off. One, glorious, wonderful day, where they can do anything they like as long as it’s within the ward perimeter the Aurors have put up, which actually doesn’t leave too many options open. But regardless, it’s a free day, and for once Harry and Draco both get theirs at the same time. Longbottom is back now, and spends so much time in their room that it would almost be funny, were it not the least funny thing in the entire world. At least Harry’s given up on pretending they’re not sleeping with each other, which means they can share a bed and Longbottom can’t give them shit for it.

Draco has planned their day off down to the very last detail. First, they will walk to the border of the wood, and then they’ll turn north onto the road and walk up past the church, into the fields where nobody ever bothers to patrol. Then they’ll have sex for eight hours, and then they’ll come back. Draco even dug up some wine from the back of the pantry, which-- is probably stealing, now that he thinks about it.

“Okay,” Harry says, and then shrugs, when Draco proposes this plan. They’re already on the road, walking in the shade of the trees. Draco takes Harry’s hand, which is sweating.

“You can be somewhat more exuberant than that,” Draco tells him. “There’s nobody else here. Unless you count wildlife, I suppose. I saw a woodpecker earlier, did I tell you that?”

“Where?” Harry says.

“Out of the window,” Draco replies. “It was in a tree, obviously. I didn’t actually know what it was at first, I’d never seen one before, but then I called Neville over and he told me the name. It was lovely, had a red head, like it was wearing a little red hat.”

“It sounds cute,” Harry says.

“It was,” Draco replies. “Very cute. The next time I see it I’ll make sure to call you over.” He looks around them. The forest is thick on their left, green and fecund, but is thinning out ahead of them, and to their right golden sunlight is lighting up the fields beyond the tree line.

“I hope we see a deer,” Harry says, after a minute or two.

“Yes,” Draco replies. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

They stop at the church grounds to catch their breath. It’s lovely, Draco thinks, even though he’s never really been one for religion. The steeple rises high into the air, and there’s a big stained glass window around the back with pictures of people in it, a lot like the blue-flowered ones on the twelfth floor of the Ravenclaw tower.

“We can go in,” Harry says. “If you want.” He’s over beside the door, which is already open.

Draco narrows his eyes. “Did you just break into a church?” he asks. Breaking and entering is wrong generally, he knows, even though that’s never stopped him, and he’s sure it must be especially wrong to break and then enter into a church. Harry shrugs, one of his preferred modes of communication, and then goes inside anyway.

The ceiling is high and golden, and the benches are dusty, and Harry is already over at the far end of the church, climbing the stairs up to some odd stone platform.

“Hello,” he says, when he reaches the top, his voice echoing around the room.

“Hello,” Draco replies, and goes to sit at the very front. The windows look even more spectacular from inside, he thinks, the light shining through them at just the right angle.

Harry’s turning the pages of a book, looking down at it intently. “Do you want me to read you something?” he asks.

“No, thank you,” Draco replies. “Although that’s very nice of you to offer.” There’s something about this space that makes him want to talk quietly, even though there’s nobody here. He wants to remind Harry about their sex plans, and then wonders if he’s allowed to say that word in a religious building. “We have plans,” he says instead, significantly, hoping that Harry will understand.

Harry does, evidently, because he rolls his eyes. “We have the whole day,” he says.

“I miss you,” Draco tells him. “Sleeping in the same bed as you is literally torture. Actually, sorry, no, it’s not torture, it’s wonderful, don’t give me that look.”

Harry purses his lips.

“I suppose you’re right,” Draco admits. “I enjoy spending time with you with nobody else around. It doesn’t really matter what we’re doing. Even though I had sex plans.”

Harry frowns. “Can you say that in here?”

Draco shrugs. “I just did, Potter,” he says. “Should we break and enter into the back room? I want to see where the priests sleep.”

“Priests don’t live in churches,” Harry says.

“Oh,” Draco says. “I thought they did. That’s disappointing. Where do they live, then?”

Potter shrugs. “Not in churches,” he says.

“Well,” Draco says, standing up and dusting off the back of his trousers. “I think I’ve seen everything I need to see, with regards to this church. What about you?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “I’m good. Let’s go-- the thing. The thing we were doing.” Harry doesn’t blush, so much, but he does get a very constipated expression on his face. Draco finds it absolutely delightful.

“You are delightful,” Draco says. “I like you very much. And you’re right again, I feel that we have seen everything this church has to offer.”

Harry screws his face up, and then climbs down from the stone thing. “I like you too,” he says, reluctantly. Draco kisses him, on his jaw and then on his lips, because he believes in positive reinforcement.

Once they’re outside again, and past the gate of the graveyard, Harry grabs Draco’s hand. “Listen,” he says, as though Draco isn’t constantly hanging on Harry’s every word. “Do you want to go to Ron and Hermione’s thing with me?”

Draco stops walking. “Do you mean their wedding?” he says evenly. Potter shrugs. “I was invited to that,” Draco points out. “I am actually really good friends with Ron now. I think he might ask me to be his best man.”

“I’m his best man,” Harry says.

“Well, yes, obviously,” Draco replies. He thinks for a moment. “You mean you want to go together. _Together,_ together?”

Harry stares at him. “Yes,” he says.

“Well,” Draco starts, and then swallows. He’s probably making a complete fool of himself. “Yes,” he says. “I’d like that a lot. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, and then tugs on Draco’s hand a few times in order to make him start walking again.

 

3.

Approximately seven hours before the wedding is due to start, Draco is woken up by the sirens going off outside their window. Harry is already climbing out of bed, tugging his shirt on.

“Is that-- me?” Longbottom asks, meaning _do I have to get out of bed for this even though I’m opting out of combat?_

“I’d get up,” Harry says roughly. “Just in case.”

“Ughhh,” Draco says. “Ugh.”

“I know,” Harry says fondly, and slips one hand into Draco’s messy hair. “Get up though.”

“Ughh,” Draco says, but does get up, and then gets dressed. He doesn’t even have time to brush his teeth, just casts a quick cleaning spell when they’re on their way downstairs.

They meet Hermione in the hallway, looking as though she’s ready to murder someone. “I’m very sorry,” Draco says, putting his hand on her shoulder. “This is terrible timing.”

She takes a deep breath, adjusting her secondary wand holster as they walk, tightening the buckles. Last summer she was left without a wand in a battle, and couldn’t block a Cruciatus. She’s been extra careful ever since. “I don’t even want to think about it,” she says. “Let’s just get through it.”

And they get through it. Draco spends most of his time knee-deep in the boggiest part of the common while the Aurors move forward over the river, Harry with them. By the time the members of the Order are finally called ahead to join them, most of the work is already done. A couple of Death Eaters have been captured, and some are dead, but apparently a lot more escaped. Draco doesn’t-- he doesn’t know how that keeps happening. He doesn’t think this war is ever going to end, if that keeps happening. He’s covered pretty much entirely in bog-water, he didn’t even cast a single spell today, he can see Hermione over beside a tree healing a wound in her own leg, and he doesn’t think they’re ever going to win this fucking war.

He finds Harry, who is talking to Robards in the middle of the muddy field, and looking not much better than Draco feels. He hangs on the edge of their conversation for a moment, before Robards beckons him forward.

“Malfoy,” he says, sounding deeply satisfied with himself. “You did well today, son.”

Draco can think of multiple, inappropriate responses to that statement, starting with _I didn’t fucking do anything_ and ending with _and you’re not my father,_ but Harry nudges him in the side and he just says “Thank you, sir,” instead.

“Off to the wedding later?” Robards asks them. He’s got a lot of blood on his neck, for some reason, and Draco wonders if he should point it out or not. It seems unlikely that a person wouldn’t notice having an entire bucket of blood dried on their neck.

“Yes, sir,” Harry says, and then fails to extend the conversation any further.

“Will we see you there?” Draco asks.

Robards laughs, which is probably fair. “Maybe if this hadn’t happened,” he says. “But you boys have a great time,” he says, and then actually, seriously winks at them.

Draco blinks at him, unable to process what’s happening. His clothes are starting to dry on his body, stiff and itchy. He wonders if Harry killed anyone today.

“Thank you,” Harry says, and then leads Draco away. “Are you alright?” he asks, once they’re out of earshot.

Draco considers laughing. “Are _you_ alright?” he asks. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Harry says, frowning, and then shakes his head. “I mean, yes, I’m alright.”

“Hermione’s hurt,” Draco tells him. “I saw her a few minutes ago, she had a cut on her leg and was healing it herself. It looked completely gruesome.”

Harry makes a face. “Did she look alright?”

“No!” Draco says. “What about the word _gruesome_ sounds alright to you?”

“We’d better find her,” Harry says, looking around himself. “I wonder if the wedding’s still on.”

“Of course the wedding’s still on,” Draco says. “People need cheering up. I, for one, am going to get shitfaced.”

Harry looks at him fondly again, which is starting to become disconcerting. “Stop it,” Draco tells him. “Or I won’t be your date this evening.” Harry, to his credit, doesn’t call Draco on his empty threat.

It’s a beautiful wedding, and if Draco cries, it’s only because Harry looks so incredibly attractive in his suit that Draco can’t cope with it. Weasley says some vows that Draco doesn’t pay attention to, and then Hermione says hers, which are lovely.

Harry finds him afterwards in the big marquee the Weasley’s have put up outside their house.

“The last time I was at a wedding,” Harry says. “It got attacked by Death Eaters.”

“Brilliant,” Draco says, eating some shrimp. It’s been such a long time since he’s had shrimp. It’s almost actually _criminal,_ how long it’s been since he’s been able to eat shrimp. He hates this war. “What are the odds that that’s going to happen again?”

“Pretty low,” Harry says, watching Draco shovel shrimp into his mouth. He takes one off Draco’s plate, delicately, and eats it, contemplatively.

“So we’re probably good then,” Draco says. “Thank Merlin, because I’d definitely abandon you all if we had to do another fight today.”

“Do another fight,” Harry echoes, and rolls his eyes. “No you wouldn’t,” he then says, because somehow or other he has developed an almost unshakeable amount of trust in Draco, over the years. “Where did you get this?” he asks, taking another shrimp. Draco doesn’t try to stop him. “They haven’t even started serving yet.”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Draco replies mysteriously. Harry blinks at him. “I just went into their kitchen and took some,” Draco admits. “Is that bad? Actually, don’t tell me. They did have so much shrimp, though, Harry. I’m sure nobody even noticed.”

Harry grins, for some reason. “Except that we’re the only people eating,” he points out, which is true.

“I chose this table for a reason,” Draco tells him.

“Out of the way,” Harry agrees. “Very clever.”

“Should we get a drink?” Draco asks. They’re the only people at this out of the way table, so he puts his hand on Harry’s knee. “Can I get you a drink,” he amends.

“No thank you,” Harry says. “I’m good with our shrimp.”

People are dancing, already, even though dinner hasn’t even been served yet. Ginny and Luna are getting off at one of the tables beside where they band is playing, everyone giving them a wide berth. “This is a great wedding,” Draco says.

“Everyone’s really happy,” Harry agrees. “Ron and Hermione especially.”

“Well I should think so,” Draco says, and takes a sip out of the carafe of water in the middle of the table.

“Christ,” Harry says faintly. “You know you’re not supposed to drink from that?”

Draco wrinkles his nose at him. “Are they going to make you give a speech, darling?”

Harry makes an odd noise, and Draco smiles at him. He eats another piece of shrimp.

“They’re not making me,” Harry says. “I want to.”

“Give me a shoutout,” Draco tells him. “I’ll applaud very loud for you after it’s over. Do you want me to whistle? I can whistle, if you want me to.”

“Yeah okay,” Harry says. “Do you want to dance?’

Draco sighs, and looks down at his plate of shrimp. “I feel as though I should finish this,” he says, gesturing. “Since I did steal it.”

“Come and dance with me,” Harry says. “The shrimp will still be here when we get back.”

“Alright,” Draco says, and lets Harry lead him to the dance floor. It really is rather lovely, softly lit with glowing lights in the ceiling of the tent. “Oh no, we’re in a tent,” Draco says, as Harry puts his hand on his waist. “I didn’t realise.”

“Shall we leave?” Harry asks, but he’s pulling Draco close to him. The music is slow, sweet, and makes Draco want to put his head on Harry’s shoulder, so he does.

“Have I told you how glad I am that we’re not dead?” Draco says, quietly. “I was thinking it earlier. I’m so glad neither of us died before we got a chance to dance at this wedding.”

“Me too,” Harry says. “I hope we get to dance at a hundred more weddings.”

Draco laughs into the side of Harry’s neck, and then kisses the top of his ear.

The lights above are twinkling, the people around them are laughing and loud and happy, and Harry is here with him and Draco can feel his heart beating, and they’re both alive, and will hopefully continue to be alive for a very long time. And the war will end one day, Draco knows, one way or another, but he’s ever optimistic that things will turn out in their favour, as things have mostly done so far.

“Just so you know," Draco says, after a moment. "There’s absolutely no way we’re getting married in a fucking tent.”

**Author's Note:**

> [hello](http://seefin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
